storybook sonata
by whizz
Summary: collection of disney & non-disney oneshots. // oo3. peter pan; he sees her off with a smile but even pixie dust won't save him from plummeting to the ground, downdowndown.
1. oo1 swan lake

**fandom; **Swan Princess  
**pairing; **Derek/Odette  
**warnings; **none  
**disclaimer; **I own nothing.

**i.**

It's silly, really, and she doesn't hesitate in telling her father so - at _least _a good seven times after they've left their beautiful castle clad in marble and pastel-shaded glory, crowds of people coming to see them off, cheering joyfully; they've all _heard. _

Odette knows this, because she overheard two of the maids in the court, not very subtly whispering about the big news - "have you _heard_?" they squeaked, big smiles stretched across rose petal lips as they chattered away.

Odette asked her father about the news, about why _she _hadn't _heard_, but he merely shook his head, a wistful smile on his face, and patted her hair before telling her to go play, daddy was busy these days - as if she hadn't noticed.

"But, dad, it's_ silly_!" she hisses one last time as the gates are opened, the display of a huge, portentous castle coming to view. Standing in the middle of the overfilled courtyard is a lady with big hair and a pretty smile; next to her Odette sees a boy, a sour expression on his youthful face. His name is Prince Derek, she knows, because daddy mentions him quite often ("the two of you are going to be _very _good friends, my child, isn't that wonderful?").

Her dad helps her off of the horse, whispering something or another about greeting the boy politely and suddenly Odette feels even more irritated. The dress she's wearing is stupid and itchy, and it makes it excessively hard to move around; she's only wearing it because daddy insisted, because they were visiting _very _important hosts.

Prince Derek is just _standing _there, huffing and trying his hardest not to meet her eyes, while his mother is cooing happily and welcoming them.

Odette is being pushed forward lightly, fused together with the prince that looks no more happy about the situation than she is, almost stumbling on the stupid, stupid dress - it's_ pink, _too_! - _and wishing that she could just rip the matching hat off.

This is so _silly, _she thinks, glaring in response to her father's encouraging look behind locks of sunshine.

**ii.**

Winter becomes her favorite season for reasons you'd think were obvious enough. As soon as she sees that first snow flake soar towards the ground, she smiles and stretches out across the bed, a thick book filled with tales and stories from faraway-countries in her hand.

Odette grows quite fond of fairy tales in particular; the love between the beautiful princess and the brave prince that is able to survive anything, even grotesque monsters, even _death, _their kiss stronger than the sharpest sword, glittering in silver.

"You enjoy the romantic ones the most, milady?" a young maid asks as she helps the princess get ready for bed, noticing the newly imported book on her bedside table.

"I guess", Odette answers absently, twirling a braid around her finger. "It's probably because things like that don't happen in real life - it makes it exciting."

"Oh, but milady, you're to be wed with a Prince Charming too, aren't you?" the maid sighs dreamily. "I hear Prince Derek has grown quite handsome, and-"

"That's not it at all", the princess replies stubbornly, making a face. "He's immature and _mean! _There's nothing 'Prince Charming' about him!"

"Perhaps you will be delightfully surprised, then, milady. I truly hope you will", the maid smiles, taking some of the used sheets in her arms and slowly walking out of the chamber.

Odette rolls her eyes at her bed overflowing with lace and girly fluffiness. Eyeing the book, she remembers the last summers spent in that castle that smells so much differently from her own, Derek and his friend and the pranks they always pull on her - they never get away with it, though. She remembers the horses and the races and the swimming in the lake nearby, the dirt under her nails and the running from the tutting servants as soon as she skinned a knee. She remembers Derek's teasing laugh, his remarks about Odette being more of a man than he is ("yeah, because you're a pansy!") and the tasteless jokes exchanged between him and his stupid friends.

_No, _she decides, bringing the book into her lap and fumbling with the lamp. _This is nothing like a fairy tale or a love story - not even close!_

And as days go by, she finds that the flower buds covering the majestic trees that can be seen from her personal balcony (where she's stood so many times, her daddy yelling at her to hurry up and her stomach dropping, _no no no I'm not going I'm not going no no no_) are starting to look more like a bad omen than anything; she sighs hopelessly when she wakes one morning only to be able to see the spots of green grass breaking through the layer of snow.

"Soon, it's summer break again", her father rumbles, pleased, at the dining table.

"I _know_", Odette murmurs brokenly, cursing the traitorous winter for leaving so quickly.

**iii.**

The road there is ridiculous; it's kind of narrow, kind of bumpy, and the whole time she is being questioned about Derek's family history, the main rules of proper etiquette and so on. There's non-stop talking and pinching her sides when she's not listening and _Odette, will you please, please try at least?_

She's, apparently, grown into a fine young woman; at least, that's what their family friends from faraway are claiming, that's what the entire court is buzzing about, that's what the inhabitants in the kingdom is always complimenting her on; the waterfall of golden curls, the way the dresses are fitted perfectly against her lean body, the way her singing voice like chirping birds rings out throughout the castle sometimes, the way her eyes sparkle kindly.

"You've grown so much, my child", her father murmurs as if he's surprised, touching her perfectly manicured hand, his eyes soft despite the wrinkles embedded beneath them and his conscious seemingly far from the constricted space in the carriage where everybody is talking. Odette smiles at him - _he means well he does I know he does - _but she can't bring herself to answer, the bitter taste in the back of her mouth more evident as she sees the castle clearly now, brilliant green growing all around it.

She's heard rumors; Derek this and Derek that; handsome, courageous, kind, strong, talented Derek. Her lithe fingers lock in her lap, gaze focused on her new tiny shoes. Odette knows this is not what she's wished for, not what she's wanted; everybody knows, she's sure. Even her father. Even the servants. Even the exotic bird in the golden cage leaning against the wall of her room looked at her sympathetically just before she left, as if aware of the sorrow in her chest.

"Come now, come, princess", Mr. Rodgers insists, offering his hand for her to take. She accepts it, grumpily stepping out of the carriage and resisting just a bit more than usual, being just a bit more difficult than she always is - because, well, _this is the last summer. _From now on, she'll be spending _all _of the seasons here. The thought makes her cringe.

And she's being pushed through doors and greeted by people rushing around frantically, baking ingredients and flower bouqets and differently colored napkins in their arms, smiles and squeals and humming everywhere she looks, they're all watching her approvingly, murmuring, touching her as if to calm her.

It only makes her all the more stressed, all the more aware of all eyes that rest on her, all the more annoyed by the whole situation. Frowning, she tries to drag her arm back from the vice grip her father and Mr. Rodgers have on her, but to no avail. She is pushed into the main ball room, her cardigan somehow disappearing and the door closing shut behind her.

Odette faces the door, arms crossed at her chest, wishing she had the ability to burn right through the surface with her gaze. Politeness and princess-like manners be damned, she knows she _never _agreed to this.

"He's _so _immature!" she protests, yet to turn around and face the _marvelous _Prince Derek - the future king and her future husband. She hears a sharp intake of breath, however, and it makes her sigh, collecting herself. She feels out of place and _silly._

Slowly, Odette lifts her gaze, arms slim like a swan's neck falling to her sides as she turns.

**[end]**

A/N; Yeah, and we all know how the story ends. Well, this was just something that popped into my head - you know, Odette's feelings and thoughts up until the time when she actually met Derek as an adult and.. fell in love. Yeah.

Sorry if it's hard to understand or anything. The first part is supposed to be when they meet as little kiddos for the first time like in the movie. The second part is when they're teenagers, and the third is when they're all grown up. Aww.

The Swan Princess is actually my favorite non-Disney movie. And, I've been wanting to write stories for Disney and non-Disney fandoms for so long. This is going to be a little collection with all of those stories I've longed to write, or something. Hope you likey! 


	2. oo2 foam

**fandom; **The Little Mermaid  
**pairing; **Ariel/Eric (Ariel-centered tho)  
**warnings; **some mild gore & angst  
**disclaimer; **I own nothing.****

i.

It's not that she's too young or naive or anything - it's not like she doesn't _know _that what she's doing is wrong. To even seek out the notorious witch of the seven seas is madness, but to actually make a deal with her is not only frightening but incredibly foolish. Rumors say that there's _always _a catch, that you'd have a better chance at getting away by striking a deal with the devil.

Ariel knows all of this, but the fact that she's here is proof enough of her determination. Then again, to give up her _voice; _her well-known and loved-by-oh-so-many-_voice_; her only talent, the only recognition she's ever had, the only thing connecting her to her beautiful mother-

(butbut_but _that human boy was so very very pretty, water dripping from pitch-black locks of unruly hair and onto his tanned, warm skin where the splay of her fingertips lingered just a bit too long, where she could dream for just one fleeting moment of being part of his beautoful, beautiful world; he saw her saw her saw her, but he probably claimed it to be a mere hallucination and _oh _if Ariel could only do the same)

-suddenly, it is very clear that there's no turning back.

"You're not frightened, are you, dear?" Ursula cooes, her voice balancing on the edge between mock-kind and delighted, fat lips pulled into a half-grin. "Just sign the scroll and it will be over with!"

Ariel isn't too young to know the disadvantages of entrusting something important to someone who perhaps should _never _be trusted, and even as she tries to collect the confidence she was displaying oh-so-surely to her friends earlier, she hears her father disapproving tone in the back of her head.

"_You __know__ this is wrong_", it echoes, again and again and again, until her pretty head is much too dizzy to discern anything but blurry dots of color, and she kind of feels like they remind her of the splash of stars that she can see from her treasure cavern, sometimes, when it's not too cloudy and when the tide has yet to roll past.

Stars doesn't belong in her world, though - it's just a taunt, something far from soft sand and tickling waves - but it does in _his. _And since she is fully ready to give up her own life to be just a small part of his, perhaps she will be able to see the stars more clearly someday soon. 

Ariel thinks that this is the most sure she'll ever be, and as she grabs the pen to quickly write her signature - as if not to change her mind - she surprises herself by not being able to look (as if not accepting the sins she knows she is committing).

It all turns very foggy from there. She can feel the presence of her father's warnings slowly fade as a soothing warmth begins to encircle her lithe body, sparks and swirls lined in green and her own voice echoing all over the small place (not drowning out Ursula's maniacal laugh completely).

A strange surge flows through her form at once and the lower part of her body feels oddly numb; unfamiliar, uncomfortable but not painful in the least - and then, her vision betrays her and she finds herself swallowing water that her body isn't able to take in anymore and then there's more laughter, more numbness, and she can feel herself being pulled upwards by something, upupup-

Ariel breaks the surface barely conscious, greedily sucking air in, only to realize a second later that this must be what it feels like to be human (to be part of this odd but oh-so-pretty world - _his _world).

**ii.**

_It's strange, _Ariel muses, delicate fingers sweeping across the expensive oil paintings and the golden decorations adorning the hall walls that seem to go on for miles.

Here she is, in the very castle of the prince from her sugar-sweet dreams-

(really, she can't believe how lucky she was, brushing back damp bangs as he approached her, kind smiles and words she wanted nothing more than to believe, the warmth of his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders)

-and on top of it all, she's walking on the very_ legs _she could only fantasize about up until now, pretty dresses adorning her body and impressive dinners being served every night; she can jump, run and even _dance, _her skirt flowing at the motion, laughter bubbling in her silenced throat and Eric's big hands at the small of her back, supporting her.

Ariel is grateful; she's _happy. _And yet, it's strange. Yet, it's..

"Hey, what are you looking at?" a familiar voice calls, his presence striking a chord that echoes inside of her tiny body. She is jerked from her thoughts, already turning half-way, already feeling her lips pull into a smile-

"Were you watching the ocean?" Eric asks, knowing full well that she cannot answer, standing next to the redhead and eyeing the display of the illuminating blue beyond the castle's garden through the huge window.

Ariel lowers her gaze, fingers slowly falling off of the polished glass, relishing in the fact that his hand is pressed against her lower back; she feels _safe_. Safe and happy.

Yet, it's strange; it's as if she can _feel _the sea calling out to her, murmured voices accompanied by the melody of underwater-wonders, thumping against the shore with the intensity of the waves. It's strange because she can almost _feel _the flow of water beneath her feet, splashing at her bare legs and urging her to enter that endlessly blue.

(she _can't, _though, if she did she'd lose her precious breath and she'd _diediedie, _or she wouldn't be able to swim through the currency flow, her fragile legs much too weak to resist the strong waves and then she'd _diediedie, _besides; she doesn't belong there anymore, she's not welcome; in her father's and sisters and friends eyes she's probably already _deaddeaddead_)

"So. I see you're ready for the ball tonight. You look lovely", Eric comments, earning a smile from her without really trying, "I bet you're looking forward to it? I know I am."

Ariel nods, and even though she's clad in a ridiculously expensive dress with matching shoes that glow like the pearls safely tucked into the clams at the sea bed, she feels just as much of a child when she grins as when she was spinning along with the fishes, searching for human treasures.

"Very well then. May I have the first dance, princess?" Eric says in a mock-formal tone, changing his voice and making her giggle.

The curtain slips from her grasp as it is pulled over the enormous windows by some of the servants, and Eric pulls her into his embrace and twirls her around to a soundless beat, her legs stumbling to fall into his easy rhythm.

_Are you happy? Are you? You better be. This is what you wanted, isn't it? _she can hear the voices hissing at her, bubble-foam and pointy shells fuzzy in her mind. _Dance, then! Dance, now that you have your longed-for legs, dance! It's what you wanted, isn't it?_

She bites her lip and suppresses the sea-salty tears in the corners of her eyes, focusing on feeling his body movements sweeping her staggering form along, on dancing.

_Isn't it? _

__Ariel dances for all she is worth, struggling to keep up to the tune her body is so unused to - the tune so unlike sea-stars and aquatic plants - and she dances and dances because, well - this is what she wanted, isn't it?

**iii.**

Ariel knows that she'll be able to tell him, one day. Maybe not today; maybe not soon. She prays for a miracle, _any _miracle that will result in her getting her notable voice back. And then she will tell him. Straight out, clear as a summer's day; and he will understand, she knows he will, because he is everything beautiful and bright in her silly little fantasy-world, because he is her knight in shining armor and the man of her life.

"What are you thinking about?" Eric wonders, brushing strands of maroon hair from her smooth face. She smiles, because she has nothing to say. Not yet. _One day, you'll know. You'll see who I really am._

(because that's the way the story is supposed to end, don'tcha know?) 

It's a morning not unlike any other when she is jerked awake by a high-pitched yell that makes her entire body quake in fear, hair tousled and night gown all wrinkled as she sits up in the large, fluffy bed.

Ariel can hear frantic voices coming from outside, and she makes a run for the main balcony without knowing why - somehow, her chest tightens as if to shorten her breath and she's panicking without reason.

When the glass doors of the balcony are slammed open, she throws herself at the rail, standing on her very tiptoes and glancing towards the shore-

(a violent sonata is rumbling throughout the entire ocean, sharp waves and stormy water)

-only to find a large group of people, Eric among them, seemingly gathered around something or someone. She squints her eyes, leans forward a bit more, and there - _there!_

The very blood in her veins turns to ice as she sees her own _sister; _beautiful, beautiful Arista thrown upon land and shaking with the obvious need for sea water, looking completely dried out. Her tail looks torn, large gashes dotted upon it, and- and..

Ariel forces a horrified breath down into her now-lungs as she notices a large man raise some kind of strange-looking weapon and- and..

Beautiful, beautiful Arista, ripped apart so ruthlessly to the frightened but egged cries of the humans; and Eric, _her _Eric, shouting orders concerning the 'dangerous creature', not looking too bothered by the horrible scene.

Ariel, had she had a voice, would be utterly speechless. And as it all becomes blurry due to the sudden flow of tears escaping her eyes, redredred_somuchred _(even redder than Arista's carmine-shaded tail), she can't help but run away on the godforsaken legs she gave up not only her voice, but everything connected to her in the past for (and Arista probably came looking for _her, _butbutbut she's nothing but scattered pieces now).

The little, naive mermaid knows that it is probably not only her dreams of happily ever after pooling on the solid floor, but also the torn fragments of her very heart.

**[end]**

Okay, so, that was a bit.. twisted. I was kinda in a bad mood when I wrote this, and so I took it out on poor wittle Ariel. Sorry~!

That aside, it is good looking at a happy story from a different view. I mean, not everything ends like in the fairy tales. And so this was just a much darker side of what could've been, you know?

Hope you enjoyyyy! 


	3. oo3 fairy dust

**fandom; **Peter Pan  
**pairing; **Peter/Wendy  
**warnings; **none, I think  
**disclaimer; **I own nothing.

**i.**

Her voice is kind of soothing, he guesses - although there is no real word that could serve as an ideal definition to the sure curve of tones, the reassuring letters pronounced in perfect, good-mannered English. It's like being slowly lulled to sleep he supposes, feeling your thoughts slip away to all that is safe and good; unwillingly, yes, but without much resistance.

Actually, Peter muses, her voice comparable to lullabies and good-night stories is able to take him to a dream land of its own entirely, far from mermaids and pirates and crocodiles with clocks ticking away seconds in time with the pulse in their gut; much further away where everything is bright and colorful, where things unimaginable are displayed as every-day scenarios.

He never meant to actually ever speak with her, since stepping by every week or so to eavesdrop during storytime was something meant to stay that way, her voice like feathers floating to the ground saved in his memory as something untouchable-

(well, he really _did _need his shadow back, so sneaking in while she was asleep seemed to be the only solution, and-)

-the moment he heard that voice, though, directed only at him, it made his own vocal chords entangle themselves in a mess of awkward speechlessness, completely over-whelmed.

"Girls talk too much", he complains, hoping she won't notice the fair skin of his cheeks heating up without no obvious reason, hoping himself to get rid of this bothersome feeling as soon as possible.

She looks slightly put-off by the comment, but not really _hurt _(then again, how would he know? hurt just doesn't exist in a place located in, well, nowhere, and girls and feelings are things he was never able to read, anyway-), and even as she quickly puts that smile to her rose-petal lips and sews his shadow back on in a way that is nothing but habital, her voice rings throughout the small nursery, not faltering.

He is.. impressed? Interested? Intrigued?

(he doesn't want her to stay the inaccessible whisper of stories sprinkled with sparkles that he re-tells to the Lost Boys; he'd rather just steal her away, _mine mine mine play with me talk to me read me stories tuck me in mine mine mine_, but that's childish thinking - but that's why he dislikes reality making it childish thinking.)

"-I have to grow up tomorrow."

Peter snaps in a way he is entirely unused to, but impulsiveness and straight-forward thinking is his well-accustomed companions, so he's pretty sure he's made up his mind as he speaks, because really, he simply-

"-won't have it!" and he's barely conscious of his own demanding hand reaching for her fragile wrist.

She's confused, she's hesitating but she's not _really _protesting, and sure Tink is going to be angry with him, but this girl could maybe make a great longed-for mother, and she's nosy as ever when it comes to her favorite object of story-prospects, so-

("What's a kiss?" and even long after she tried to show him, long after his confusion, long after the interruption, he still wants to know - but only if she's the one explaining it to him, which is weird, and-)

-_faith trust and pixie dust, _and just like that, he's living his dream of sugar-glazed adventures, she's by his side and her bubbly laughter rings in his ears as they pass by Big Ben, her curls bouncing against her back and her eyes shining with anticipation.

"Wendy", he calls, and is amazed when she turns to regard him, beaming all over with the curiosity of a child (which means she's not grown-up, she'll never be, she'll stay and-) at the sight of all that this fantasy world has to offer; siren songs echoing from every ripple, the howl of the indians in the dead of the night, and Peter merely smiles and shakes his head when she lifts a questioning brow at him because he realizes he has nothing to say, he never had.

(and he sincerely hopes for all that he's worth that he can one day work up the courage to ask her if they can make their _own _Neverland).

**ii.**

Peter's only ever made two mistakes in his whole life.

The first was visiting his parents in the stupid human world long after being brought away to Neverland, watching their peaceful faces as they rocked a little baby with tousled red hair, his mother's twisted face when she swore she heard something and his father circling the garden in the search for whatever it was that had disturbed their picture-perfect family moment - in the search for _him._

(he's sure that his boring, moral-infected parents wouldn't approve of him choosing to become a fairy tale instead of a police officer or a lawyer).

Days pass and time flies and every day's a chapter of its own among all the discoveries they make, even Tinkerbell has gotten used to Wendy although she's still showing off that useless hostility, and every night as Peter retreats to bed and listens to Wendy's serene voice reading story after story to the Lost Boys, he's sure that this is what it feels like to be content, all warm and cosy on the inside as she pulls the covers up to his chin and smiles.

But something's on his mind and that something seems quite undeniable because it becomes all he ever thinks about and yet he can't really put his finger on it, can't categorize it as Important Stuff, Less Imoportant Stuff and Unimportant Stuff - can't brush it off as nothing and go taunt Captain Hook or play with wooden swords instead. Besides, there's something else; a phrase picked up from his travels to the concrete world, a word plaguing his mind..

"Um, Wendy, what is 'love'?" he says it with uncertainty, like he doesn't know the proper pronunciation, like one would say a terribly long word with no significant meaning.

She giggles, stopping in making one of the beds.

"Wherever have you heard that?"

"Uh, well.. just something I noticed, so.."

"It would be hard to explain, I suppose", she hums, "but it's a feeling deep inside that makes you feel all happy and warm and like you can overcome anything!"

"Like flying?" he pledges, confused.

"Yes, sort of. It's a feeling you have for a person that's real special, someone close. Oh, but there is love towards your parents, too. Everyone loves their parents. Love towards someone outside of your family, though.."

"Yes? What is that like?" he asks, inching closer and making her smile again.

"It's something I've heard is a wonderful thing. When you'd do anything for someone, when your heart beats faster whenever they're around.. you want to be close to them, you want for them to be happy." 

Peter has to ponder over this for a while, considering the girl's answer. Then something hits him.

"So.. have you ever loved someone, then? Except for your parents?"

"Me?" she splutters, blushing despite being ever-composed. "Oh, no. Never."

"Never.." he repeats, a breathy echo rather than a question. To think he used to like the sound of that word.

His second mistake was (meeting, falling for, losing) _her._

Peter doesn't like troubles and problems and scowls and pain because that does not belong in his eternal adult-free world; butbutbut-

It doesn't rain the day she leaves like in the movies - it never rains in Neverland - but it does feel like something within him is being ripped out and left to hang half-brokenly, the mirror image of himself reflected in the water looking more mature than he has ever seen it, and-

("-everyone else thinks I'm great!" "Especially Tiger Lily!")

He sees her off with a smile, telling himself that he'll just go on like always, searching for treasures and messing with pirates, his life a rotating adventure; telling her "you'll be back soon enough", confident as ever, (who'd want to grow up, anyway?), turning his back as if not to see the sorrowful smile on her lips as she hops off of the railing of the ship and lands quite gracefully on the roof of her home.

In the end, Peter reasons, she was nothing but fuel to his pixie dust-covered fantasies. But she _will _be back, and that is for certain. No one has belonged better in a world so free of boundaries; no one could be more suited for this sort of life.

(her voice ringing in his head like a mechanic mantra, so unlike the velvety quality he is used to; _never never never_).

**iii.**

If he only remembered how to cry, now would be a good time to do it.

He's been avoiding that building on purpose the very few times he has payed a visit, but it's the goddamn same window as ever (_so she still hasn't left the nursery_) and he sees her, standing out as much as the second star to the left does across the night sky. She's all curled up on the windowsill, clothes ruffled and hair messy, so unlike her usual prude self, and he can't help the roller coaster of feelings that overcome him the moment he notices her.

"Wendy", he whispers, floating closer despite Tink's warnings, and he lands before the small girl whose face is hidden in her propped up arms. Just as he is about to reach out and touch this precious, precious person, the door is opened and in comes a beautiful lady along with the light from the hall lamp. He is quick to hide just beneath the window, hearing his own heartbeat above the footsteps inching closer.

"Jane, dear, wake up. You'll catch a cold if you sleep by the window like that. Come now, Jane", a voice calls, and a pang echoes throughout his suddenly frozen body.

There is mumbling and sleep-mussed words along with the sound of rustling, but he fails to hear it due to the piercing shock. He would recognize that voice _anywhere._

"What were you doing here? Waiting for Peter Pan?" she speaks again, smooth and calm like always, the hint of a smile behind her words.

"Mom, you know I don't believe in stories like that", comes the stubborn answer.

"But Jane, dear-"

"Faith, trust and pixie dust - it's all nonsense! None of it will bring dad back! Mom, this is for real, we don't have time for childish games!"

Peter's blood turns to ice and he feels just as dead inside as the unmoving soldiers scattered among the red-tinted streets of London - _this is for real, this is for real, _and Wendy has moved on and grown up (without him).

For a brief second, just before he turns around to see Tinker Bell's light go out like a fading lamp, he truly feels like a child (and he's quite sure that this is not how the story's supposed to end - then again, it's not like he can ask his favorite narrator or anything).

**[end]**

**A/N; **this didn't exactly turn out the way i planned, but i must say that i adore this fandom to no end. although i prefer the book version instead of the movie(s). i ougtha write another oneshot about this sometime, but from Wendy's POV! i already have a few ideas.. 


End file.
